Standup Guy (Stone Barrington)

by Stuart Woods

  The ME left the van and approached Sparks. “Single gunshot wound, right side,” he said. “If she’d had reasonably prompt medical attention, she would have survived. Looks like she parked here, went to sleep, and bled out.” He held up a Glock in a plastic bag. “This was underneath the body. We didn’t find a shell casing, so I don’t think she shot herself.”

  “We found the shell casing last night,” Sparks said.

  They stood back to let the stretcher be wheeled past and put into the state van. “It’s your scene now,” the ME said to Sparks.

  Sparks put on some latex gloves and opened the van’s side door. There were two suitcases on the rear seat. He opened them both and found only a woman’s clothing, then he went to the rear door and opened that. Two black nylon suitcases with built-in wheels sat in the luggage compartment. Sparks tipped one on its side and unzipped it. The case was filled with stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

  “Mystery of the money solved,” Sparks said.

  “Stone,” Dino said, “it was nice of Hank and Parese to change all that cash into hundreds. Much more convenient to deal with.”

  “You’re right, Dino. I wonder how much they paid whoever did the swap.”

  “You can count it all over again when it gets to your house.”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Sparks said, “you can take it with you. Just give me a receipt, I don’t want it on my hands.”

  Dino took out his notebook and wrote out a receipt. “Received of Dan Sparks two black suitcases, contents: uncounted.” He signed it and ripped off the page. “There you go, Dan,” he said. He grabbed one of the bags and set it on its wheels. “You get the other one, Stone.”

  Stone followed Dino to his car with the other bag, and they stowed them both in the baggage compartment of the SUV.

  “I want to go straight to my bank,” Stone said to Dino as he got into the car.

  “Your bank is closed,” Dino said. “Holiday weekend, remember? You’re going to have to take the money home with you.”

  Stone made a loud groaning noise. “Then you’re going to have to help me count it.”

  “Fat chance,” Dino said.

  59

  Stone and Dino got the two suitcases out of the SUV and rolled them into Stone’s office.

  “There you go,” Dino said. “Have a good time.” He left.

  “Shirker!” Stone called after him, but the only reply was the slamming of the office door.

  His office smelled faintly of vomit, and his desk was a mess of papers and currency bands. He swept everything off and emptied a suitcase on the top. As he did, Joan came into the room.

  “I saw Dino outside the window, and I got curious.”

  “That’s your misfortune,” Stone said. “Now you have to help me count the money.”

  Joan picked up a stack of bills and examined them. “All hundreds? What did you do? Wave a magic wand?”

  “Don’t ask, just count.” He found a legal pad and a calculator. “Each bundle is a hundred hundred-dollar bills, or ten thousand dollars. It’ll be easy.”

  “You always say that when it’s hard,” she replied, taking the legal pad and calculator from him. “Did you sleep in those clothes?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “What happened with Hank?”

  “Hank is dead.”

  “What? You killed her?”

  “Of course not. She and her boyfriend had a little tiff, and she brought a knife to a gunfight.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Buono’s buddy Marty Parese, who, incidentally, killed Buono and cut off his head. Hank managed to knife Parese before he shot her. Neither survived.”

  He filled in the rest of the details for her.

  “So you were in this office, trussed up like a turkey, when I was watching Tiger Woods play golf on TV? I should have been helping you.”

  “That crossed my mind, but don’t worry about it. If you had happened upon us, you would have been trussed up, too.”

  “Well, at least you’d have had some company.”

  Stone finished counting the bundles, stacking them back in the suitcase as he did so. He closed and zipped it, then he set it on the floor, picked up the second case, unzipped it, and started again.

  “Neither of us would have been much company, since our mouths would have been taped.”

  “Why didn’t Parese shoot you?”

  “He was about to, but he was interrupted by Kate Lee leaving a message on the voice mail. That stopped him in his tracks and helped Hank talk him out of it.”

  “Poor Hank,” Joan said.

  Stone continued his count, and Joan continued to mark down the results and do the arithmetic. “I warned her before she left the house that he’d kill her if she didn’t kill him first. She just didn’t do it soon enough. If she had, she’d have been on a chartered jet bound for God-knows-where, with five million in cash.”

  “No,” Joan said, adding her final column and noting the balance on her legal pad.

  “What?”

  “She’d have had four and a half million—that’s the total.”

  “Oh, so Parese paid somebody five hundred thousand to bring him all hundreds. I guess ten percent wasn’t a bad deal.”

  “It was for you,” Joan said.

  “Call my insurance agent tomorrow and explain things to him. I don’t have the heart. If he wants to see the money, tell him to get over here pronto, because I’m sending it back to the bank before lunch.”

  “I think the deductible on your household policy is fifty thousand,” she said. “So you won’t get hurt too badly. Are you going to leave the money in the office again?”

  “No, yesterday when I was rummaging with my chin in my desk drawers, I found the key to the wine cellar.” He opened a drawer and held it up. “So at least it will be out of sight and under lock and key.”

  The phone rang, and Joan picked it up. “Woodman & Weld, Stone Barrington’s office.” She listened for a moment. “Please hold. It’s somebody named Jack Coulter,” she said. “He wants to come with his wife to see you tomorrow about legal representation. He says Eduardo sent them.”

  Stone laughed. “Eduardo again?”

  Joan laughed, too. “No, this time it’s Eduardo Bianci.”

  “Make the appointment for late morning.”

  Joan pressed the button. “Mr. Barrington can meet with you at eleven AM, if that’s convenient. Fine, let me give you the address. Then we’ll see you and Mrs. Coulter at eleven.” She hung up.

  “Who are Mr. and Mrs. Jack Coulter?” Stone asked.

  “I don’t know, but his voice sounded oddly familiar. I don’t know of anyone by that name, though.”

  Stone rolled first one suitcase, then the other into the wine cellar and locked the door.

  “It smells not so hot in here,” Joan said.

  “Yes. Please get Helene and Fred in here first thing in the morning to clean the carpet around the sofa. There was a little accident yesterday.”

  Joan pressed the VOICE MAIL button on the phone. “Stone, it’s Kate Lee. I haven’t heard from you, but we’re changing our dinner to Monday evening at seven, if you’re available. Call me on the cell number.”

  “Was that the first lady?”

  “Yes. I didn’t have the opportunity to call her back.” He did so and got her voice mail. “Kate, I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner, but I was . . . tied up. I’d love to see you this evening at seven.” He hung up.

  “You look tired,” Joan said.

  “Yes, that’s why I’m going to go upstairs to bed. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and counting bags of money is tiring.”

  “See you tomorrow, then. Don’t oversleep and forget your dinner.”

  Stone took the elevator; he was too tired to walk up the stairs.

  60

  Stone slept through the afternoon. He woke around six PM and reflected on the past few days and weeks. Three people were dead, one of th
em someone he had grown fond of, before she had betrayed him for money. Still, she had saved his life, after endangering it, so he couldn’t feel too badly toward her.

  He struggled out of bed and got into the shower and shaved, then got a cab to the Carlyle.

  Special Agent Griggs of the Secret Service met him at the elevator when he reached the Lees’ floor.

  “Welcome back, Agent Griggs,” Stone said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrington,” Griggs said. “I was reassigned last week, this time for the duration. By the way, while I was serving in Florida, we came across some more of those old hundred-dollar-bills my partner and I visited you about.”

  “Any resolution of the case?” Stone asked.

  “I’m afraid not. I did some looking around, but I just told my boss that it was a waste of our time, and he agreed.”

  “I’m glad it’s off your mind,” Stone said.

  “The president and Mrs. Lee are expecting you,” Griggs said, then walked him down the hallway to the door, motioning for another agent to step aside. Griggs rang the bell. “Good to see you, Mr. Barrington.”

  “And you, Agent Griggs.”

  Kate opened the door and pulled him inside. She gave him a big hug. “Exciting news,” she said. “We’d like to tell you together.” She took his hand and pulled him into the living room, where Will Lee already had a glass in his hand. He stood up to greet Stone with a warm handshake.

  “The usual?” Kate asked.

  “Please.”

  She handed him the drink, and they all sat down. “The others will be here in a little while,” Will said, “but we wanted to see you first.”

  “Oh?”

  “First, there’s this.” He picked up a white envelope and handed it to Stone.

  “What’s this?”

  “Read it, then forget about it. I have.”

  Stone opened the envelope and extracted a heavy sheet of paper. Across the top were emblazoned the words PRESIDENTIAL PARDON. And under that was printed the name THEODORE THOMAS FAY.

  “The pardon is sealed, as you suggested,” Will said. “It will not be released to the press. And I have seen that his name has been removed from every law enforcement and intelligence database.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. I’m very grateful to you.”

  “And we are very grateful to you, Stone, for your friendship and good advice over the years. Now, I will trust you to see that the document is delivered into the right hands at an early date, and we’ll say no more about it, ever.”

  “Now, our other news,” Kate said. “I have decided to run now, not later, for the Democratic nomination for president, and we’re making the announcement tomorrow. The others of the Group of Twenty-one will be joining us for dinner shortly.”

  “What changed your mind about the timing?” Stone asked.

  “A reporter for the Washington Bureau of the New York Times got somebody—who cares who?—to talk. Confronted with the impending publishing of the story, Will and I talked it over and decided to go now, even if we have missed some primaries.”

  “This is going to be very exciting,” Stone said. “I congratulate you, and I promise you my vote and as many more as I can muster up for you.”

  “We’ll be handing out other envelopes for everybody after dinner, outlining my positions on just about every issue in detail. If you have time to read them, they will give you much ammunition for mustering those votes and, especially, for fund-raising.”

  “I’ll start phoning my unsuspecting friends tomorrow,” Stone said.

  The doorbell rang again, and people began to file into the penthouse apartment. The Lees and Stone joined them, and Stone folded the envelope and put it into an inside pocket.

  61

  Stone was at his desk at ten AM, and his first call was to Mike Freeman.

  “Good morning, Mike.”

  “Good morning, Stone. Good weekend?”

  “I haven’t decided yet, but now I’d like to make one more attempt to make a bank deposit.”

  “I’ll send my people immediately.”

  “I’d be grateful if you’d come with them, if you’re free. I have something to pass privately to you.”

  “I can manage that. Half an hour?”

  “Perfect.” Stone hung up and buzzed Joan. “Now, please get me Eduardo Bianci.”

  Peter, Eduardo’s butler, took the call, ascertained that Stone was Stone, then put the call through.

  “Good morning, Stone.”

  “Good morning, Eduardo. I hope you are well.”

  “Better than I have any right to be,” the old man replied.

  “I understand you have sent me a new client.”

  “That is so. Hillary is the widow of my good friend Thomas Foote, and she has told me that she is uncomfortable with being represented by the firm that handled Tom’s affairs. Naturally, I thought of you and Woodman & Weld. I think your experience in handling your own late wife’s estate will stand you in good stead with Hillary’s case.”

  “As always, I’m grateful for your good thoughts, Eduardo.”

  “I hope that when you meet with her you’ll like her—and her new husband, Jack Coulter, who I found to be bright and very good company at dinner last evening. I believe Jack’s intentions are only for his wife’s welfare. He seems to wish nothing of hers for himself.”

  “He sounds like a good fellow. I’m seeing them in just a few minutes, so perhaps I’d better go.”

  “May I call you for dinner one night soon?”

  “Of course. By the way, Kate Lee will be speaking to the press on television today. I think you would find it interesting to watch. We can talk more about that when we meet.”

  “I shall look forward to it. Goodbye, Stone.”

  “Goodbye, Eduardo.”

  Stone hung up and watched as Joan wheeled in a little folding cart, holding three legal boxes. “What’s that?”

  “Mrs. Coulter has sent these over.”

  “I hope she doesn’t expect me to read them before her arrival.”

  “No, I don’t think so. And I hear someone at the front door.”

  “That would be Mike Freeman and his merry men.”

  He shook Mike’s hand and excused himself for a moment. He went to the wine cellar, unlocked it, and rolled out the first suitcase, then returned for the second. “There you are, Mike. Mr. Crockwell is expecting your men. Have them tell him the load is ten percent lighter than when he last saw it.”

  When the men had gone, Stone poured Mike some coffee and gave him the white envelope. “I was asked to see that this reached the appropriate hands as soon as possible. Those would be yours, then his.”

  Mike opened the envelope and looked at the pardon. “How on earth did you do this?”

  “I asked, God help me, and it was delivered in secret and sealed from the eyes of all. You may tell the gentleman that his name and any record have been expunged from all law enforcement and intelligence files, at his benefactor’s order. He is, today, a new man. Tell him to wear it well and that I am grateful to him for my son’s life and mine.”

  “I’ll do that,” Mike said. “I’m flying to L.A. this afternoon, and I’ll deliver it personally.” He drank the last of his coffee. “Joan tells me you have an eleven o’clock, so I’ll run. Dinner?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Done.” Mike left.

  Joan buzzed him. “Mr. and Mrs. Coulter are here.”

  “Please send them in.”

  She came in first, and Stone saw an attractive, stylish woman in her late forties, then he saw her husband, who was very tall, slim, and wore a mustache and thick, salt-and-pepper hair, and a very good suit. He didn’t know the man, and when he spoke that didn’t help either. But why was he familiar?

  “Mr. Barrington, I am Jack Coulter, and this is my wife, Hillary, until last week, Hillary Foote.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Barrington,” she said.

  They arranged themselves in the chairs provided, a
nd Stone took one, too. “Please tell me how I may help you,” he said.

  Coulter spoke up. “We dined last evening with Eduardo Bianci, who, I understand, is your old friend, as well as Hillary’s. Hillary feels the need for new representation.”

  “Yes, Eduardo called this morning, and I have just received the records of your old representation.” Stone nodded at the legal boxes.

  “That is everything I have in the way of records, Mr. Barrington,” Hillary said, “and they go back some years before my late husband’s death. I hope you will find the time to go through them, and afterward, that we may meet again to discuss my needs.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Coulter.”

  “Hillary, please.”

  “Hillary, I and Woodman & Weld will be very happy to represent you and your husband. If you will write a letter to the head of your old firm, announcing your having obtained new representation, and asking him to turn over his firm’s records of your account to me, that would be very helpful. When I have received everything, I and my associates will go through everything, then send you a letter outlining our firm’s services and fees, and if you will be so kind, sign a copy and return it to me. When we have done that, I will phone you and arrange another meeting.”

  “You are very brisk, Mr. Barrington, and I appreciate that. By the way, I knew your late wife, Arrington. We were quite good friends, to the extent that people who live on different coasts can be good friends.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t know you when she was still alive,” Stone said. “One evening soon, perhaps you and Jack will come to dinner and we can get to know each other better.”

  Hillary stood, and Stone and Jack stood with her.

  As he walked them to the door he took Jack’s elbow. “Jack, have we met before?”

  “Yes, but only briefly,” Jack replied. “When I next see you I’ll tell you more.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Stone waved them out.